


Calendar Boy

by empires



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Alternate Universe - Police, M/M, NO CAPES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>prompt: Non tragic no cape AU where Jason's a sexy fireman and Dick's a sexy police officer. Bonus +1: policemen's ball. Bonus +2: firemen's calendar. JayDick?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calendar Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Technically this is a tumblr prompt that went way beyond the "5 headcanons" I was supposed to write. But I started editing it to post here or A03. And added 4k more words. I fail at the whole headcanon thing for real! The original is posted elsewhere.
> 
> Anon, thank you for the inspiration! I truly appreciate you.

i.  
It’s Dick’s morning to pick up smoothies for the office but he’s having problems deciding where to go. The obvious choice would be Yogurt Mountain on 6th Avenue. It’s close to the precinct and there’s a city employee discount. But he really wants to go to Corbie’s on 57th. They have natural juices there that he knows the Captain enjoys, and he has some two for one coupons burning a hole in his pocket. Dick flicks his turn signal and takes a right instead of heading toward the precinct. He’ll just have to risk it.

He must have hit the morning sweet spot because the shop is near empty when Dick enters, which is perfect. He has thirty orders. He unfolds the printed list of drinks, walks through the more complicated versions with the cashier, and thanks the cashier for his patience and help when all the smoothies are loaded into the drink carrier.

“No. No, this is easy, really,” the kid says with a slight blush. “You should see what the station house orders. There’s not even a double shot of protein on this list. Piece of cake.”

Just then the front doors opened with a cheerful jangle. Dick knew from the rubbery stamp of boots and the faint smell of pressurized water that his luck had just run out.

“Detective Grayson,” drawls a deep voice from behind sending shivers down the back of Dick’s neck.

Dick draws deep breath and exhaled before turning. Fanning out in a half moon behind him are the respectable members of Gotham’s public safety division. The heroes, the boys welcomed into homes with relief, the ones who napped half the day in their vacation stations waiting for an alarm to ring. Or as people who aren’t in the know call them, firemen. Dick has never really bought into the rivalry, but every time he’s in the presence of one particular fireman, his lip fights its way into a sneer.

“Investigator Todd.” Dick nods to the other men standing there. There’s a brief pause where both he and Todd size each other up, as if sometime in the two months since they last spoke something would have changed. Unfortunately for Dick, Todd is still the same right down to his heavy-lidded blue eyes and wide mouthed smirk set into a face that could only be described as ruggedly handsome. As for the rest of him, well, fire fighters are known to have rigorous fitness standards, and Todd certainly embodies the purpose of staying tall and strong. Not that Dick finds his physically imposing stature impressive. He lets his own eye-lids weigh down for what he hopes is an unimpressed look.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. Work keeping your busy?”

“Yes,” Dick says, curtly. “And I’m running late already. So if you’ll excuse me.” Dick grabs at the multiple handles for the drink carriers.

“That looks a little heavy for one of you office boys. Let me help.”

Dick curls his arm around the carton. “That’s okay. Wouldn’t want to put you out.”

Jason’s smirk deepens into something that Dick refuses to consider charming. “Of course not. But now your hands are full. I’ll get the door then,” he adds before Dick can comment on his observation skills.

And of course he would follow Dick. Using his big hand to sweep open the glass door so Dick could walk out without disturbing the drinks he carried. Then Todd followed him to the car, offering to hold that door for him as well.

“Thank you,” Dick says, stiffly.

“Wow, man. If it hurts that much to say, don’t even mention it.”

Dick gives a rueful grin. “Maybe I deserved that. I am grateful. It’s just I’m—“

“Running late? Swamped with cases? Catching an extra shift for a buddy?” Todd’s laugh is warm and deep. “I’ve heard them before, remember?”

“All of the above. And all true,” Dick adds, when the urge to defend himself grew too great. “It comes with the badge.”

“I get it.” Todd rests his elbow on the car door. “Hey. You still doing that ‘Year of No’ thing?”

“Yes.” From beneath his dark bangs, Dick glares at him with suspicion in his eyes. “How did you know about that?”

“I’d like to claim investigator, but truthfully?” He pulls out his phone and gives it a shake. “I got a text.”

Sighing, Dick drums his fingers on the window. “You weren’t supposed to be on that.”

“Of course I wasn’t. It’s always something with you, Grayson. No, don’t apologize,” Todd stepped back until he was on the curb. “I think I’ve got it now.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” Dick says, aware that he had been close to uttering those very words. His cheeks prickle with heat. Angry heat because he’s not embarrassed. “And what do you mean by that? What do you have?”

“A plan,” Todd says, throwing a sly wink at him.

“A plan for what?”

Todd ignores the question for a smile. “It’s always a pleasure, detective. Hope we can do this again sometime.” And with that, he jogs back up the stairs of the smoothie shop.

“Don’t hold your breath!” Dick hollers after him. He fumbles with the car keys when Todd’s laughter floats back toward him.

He thinks about Todd when he slams the door, sees his stupidly handsome face all the back to his precinct, hears his words echoing in his head up the elevator to the 4th floor. What a terrible way to start the day.

ii.  
Detective Dick Grayson has established a reputation as a work hound at the 12th Precinct. Give him an assignment and he’ll finish it with a smile. Give him an impossible lead and he’ll make the connection that cracks cases. Put him in a room filled with nothing and he’ll chase down the one piece that doesn’t fit, uncover certain truth, and deliver justice with a smile. This kind of positive attitude is infectious. The 12th has a high clearance rate, but more importantly, they have the highest morale scores in all the city departments, beating out the Gotham City Public Library system by 15 points. And because he gives so much to his colleagues, they give back to him in return.

The desk sergeants still call him kid and rookie from time to time, but they’re always willing to run through old case files with him and try to bridge street and affiliation gaps for him. The administrative assistants are always kind when they send his paperwork back, explaining what’s missing or where he should go next, then, once he gets it down, gently complain when they don’t hear from him anymore. The court clerks, the radio technicians, the dispatchers, they look out for him. And his friends go out of their way to help keep him running.

Like dropping food off at his desk, tossing muffins at him as he raced out the door, or delivering sandwiches to his waiting mouth.

“Eat this,” Stone says, dropping a hoagie into Dick’s outstretched hand. “It’s my turn to go to the DA.”

“Uh,” says Dick, unable to stop his stomach from gurgling long enough to refuse.

“Lala will be devastated if you send this one home tonight.” Stone manages to convey the full weight of his wife’s disapproval in his steady gaze. “Come on, man,” he carefully folding back the parchment paper to reveal a sandwich stack with meat, cheese, veggies and carefully drizzled oil. “I’m going to be gone for three weeks. I can’t have my wife worried about you and the baby.”

Another growl from Dick’s stomach and he’s folding like a windblown tent.

“Fine,” he says, unwrapping his own sandwich. “But only because Carla worries.”

If it’s three am and the wind whips up and down the corridor of Gotham’s streets, Carter will be standing by the yellow crime scene tape when Dick jogs up, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. “Drink this,” he’ll say. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Thanks,” says Dick, always grateful for his friend’s thoughtfulness.

Those are only a few examples of the team pulling together to help Dick, just as readily as he is to support them. It’s a good network, a positive environment to be in when it feels like you’re steadily running into walls trying to fight for justice, protect communities, foster trust and safety in a system that’s imbalanced and imperfect, and the world moves to slow for change. But they have a good commander at the top of their chain who keeps an eye out on her subordinates.

Today, Dick sweeps into the office and drops the carrier filled with smoothies on an empty desk and stalks into the bathroom. He returns minutes later with a tight smile. Captain Gordon pulls him into her office before the tension spreads to the rest of the floor.

She waits until the silence stretches a little too thin before leveling him with that focused green stare. “What’s wrong?”

Dick slumps back in his seat. They’ve known each other for too many years, have experienced far too many intimate moments and came out true friends for him to fob this off with charm. “Had a run in with Investigator Todd this morning.”

“Oh,” Babs says. It’s such a soft, mild sound that puts Dick on edge because that means she’s thinking. He immediately goes on the offensive trying to explain himself.

“We’re fine. Really. It’s just. God, he knows how to push my buttons. You’d think he’d come to appreciate what good detective work can bring to the case but he’s a fire hound, you know? And it makes no sense. Because arson investigation? It’s police work.” Dick jabs his finger to punctuate his point. “Am I right?”

“No.” She draws out the word. “You’re not wrong. We’re working on building more interdepartmental outreach, especially after the work you guys did. I want to put you guys in close proximity.”

“Why are we the ones who have to reach out? I mean, we do so much of the work and what do they do but sweep onto the scene on those big engines—totally compensating for something—and then pretend that you weren’t even there! It’s. It’s pretty discouraging. And then everybody loves them so if you try and point it out, they look at you like you’re crazy.” Dick drags his hand through his hair. “It’s not like I’m expecting a thank you or anything, but come on. It’s been a year already. Practically. And then he’s being all cryptic about a plan. And he winks at me? Who even winks anymore?”

Barbara’s eyes suddenly bright. “No one with any sense of your observation skills,” she murmurs. “I have a better question to ask you.” She places both elbows on the desk and leans forward. “When was the last time you got laid?”

Dick stares at her for a long moment. “Oh god, no. Babs, no!”

(He doesn’t always love the attention, but he does love that it shows he’s a part of something good and greater than himself.)

iii.  
The calendar is waiting on Dick’s desk after he stepped out for a quick break. It’s the recently release Gotham City Fire Department calendar. The FDGC shield is on lured display beneath a thin veneer of smoke. There’s a post-it note on the corner that reads, “Check out Mr. July,” in Babs’ crisp hand. Dick, who has known and loved Bab’s meddling ass for many years, refuses to do any such thing. He levels a glare at her closed door then deliberately picks up the calendar, makes a show of flipping it over, then drops it into the trash can.

Across from his desk sits Harper Row trembling with suppressed laughter. She’s a beat cop who has recently rotated into the detective division as part of the new training program and currently, Dick’s partner while Stone is out on paternity leave.

He slides into the swivel chair and folds his laptop open. “What’s the word from downstairs?”

“Um,” says Harper between titters. “The captain said.”

Dick waits until she gets the laughter under control.

“Captain said to make sure you look at the calendar,” she manages the whole sentence before collapsing into giggles. “You really. Um. You really do not want to miss it.”

“I looked at it. You saw me look at it. Job well done,” he says. “Now, let’s get back to work.”

Another calendar is back on his desk the next day. And the next day. And the day after that it’s hanging on the column beside his desk. It doesn’t matter if Dick throws away the calendar, threatens to set it on fire, or shreds it in full view of the floor, a new calendar is tacked in the former’s place the following morning always, _always_ , opened to the month of July.

“Come on, guys,” Dick groans, eyes straining with how hard he’s trying not to look at the image. “It’s still April.”

(It’s kind of alarming, really. Who bought all those calendars?)

iv.  
Dick actually met Marshal Jason Todd during an arson case last summer. It had been late, or early depending on which side of the clock you operated on, when Dick pulled up to the crime scene. His thoughts spun through the recently released arson report. Something about it and their victim’s residence didn’t fit. He’d thought a quick look around would give him perspective to discover why. What he found that night, prowling through the debris with a flashlight in one hand and a flickering lighter in the other, was a suspicious person—white male, 6”2, dark hair, and eyes that glittered in the growing dawn.

(When Dick is lying awake at night, relieving the embarrassing moments of his life, he recalls how disappointed he had been when he gestured the suspect to the ground with his gun. Like, why did this guy have to be made out of Dick’s junior high wet dreams, long, strong, and challenging him with a heated stare? Why did this guy have to be so hot? Why did it throw him off his game so badly?)

“Why didn’t you say you were the arson investigator?” Dick spat later. Captain Gordon and the First Engineer had arrived on scene to diffuse the situation and, after a terse introduction, had left the two public safety officers to “get acquainted. Congratulations, gentlemen. You are now a team.”

“I was waiting for you to notice the badge,” said Todd, rubbing at the marks left by the handcuffs. The badge in question pulled at the waistband of Todd’s running shorts, which are honestly too thin and clingy for this weather, and emphasized the spread of his powerful thighs.

“I wasn’t,” Dick paused unable to express how he’d kept his focus on Todd’s upper body and that’s precisely why Dick missed the shiny badge that hovered over Todd’s other notable endowments. He’s taking that secret to the grave. “Looking that closely,” he finished with an embarrassed mumble.

“Yeah. I noticed,” Todd smirked. “Extremely professional, Detective Grayson. It will be a pleasure working with you.”

Around them, members of both GCPD and FDGC circled. The natural rivalry between the two departments took on a frustrated edge that mirrored Dick and the fire marshal he tried to arrest. And it carried through the entirety of their case together.

(The case had ended with Dick and Jason supporting each other and the real arsonist as they stumbled through the smoke field building, flames licking at their sides. Dick would come to repeat the events over and over again, in his report and personal statement, and in his testimony during the subsequent trial, but the only thing he remembers above everything is the overwhelming relief he had felt when Jason’s hand cupped his cheek with a strong hand and the way his eyes shone when Dick contradicted him one more time.

“No,” he had said. “We saved each other.”)

v.  
Todd is standing in the middle of the 12th’s detective division when Dick slips back into the office after a late lunch. His long, exquisitely muscled arms are wrapped around Row and Sgt. Fernandez while they stand grinning for a picture. There’s a couple of obnoxious catcalls when Officer Brown steps forward and, after some negotiating, both she and Todd both roll up their sleeves and flex for their photo. Really, Dick reminds himself while watching the twist of muscle under warm skin, Todd is not that attractive. Then someone gets the bright idea of asking Todd to recreate his calendar pose.

Todd fields the request gracefully, “I’m not here for that guys. It wouldn’t feel right without the hose,” and “I don’t even remember what they had me do.”

“It’s a good thing we got a reference for you, right Grayson?” Brown says with a wink.

Dick freezes when, as one, the group turns to find him stretching in an attempt to hide that damn calendar hanging above his desk.

“It’s still April isn’t it?” Todd asks, eyes shining. HIs insufferable smirk hasn’t changed a bit. It can still raise the hairs on the back of Dick’s neck and pull heat through his body. And just like that the entire room seems to drift off into the middle distance.

“I know that,” says Dick. It was only a matter of time before Dick looked at Todd’s photo in the calendar. He had been awarded the hottest month, July, and the picture proved why.

And then he looked at it again. And again until he had nearly every shade of skin and wrinkle of fabric memorized like a cartographer plotting the shape of newly discovered land. But it’s a little embarrassing to be standing in front of Todd after zoning out at his picture for an hour that morning.

“Glad to know my favorite boy in blue holds me in such high esteem,” Todd says, neatly disentangling himself from the crowd and stepping into Dick’s space in one swaggering step.

“What are you here for, Todd?” Dick finally asks when he realizes that there’s no way to retrieve a proper retort from the fizzling bit of his brain screaming, _I’m Marshal Jason Todd’s favorite!_

“The charity softball tournament is next month,” says Jason, referring to the Gotham First Responder’s Charity Softball Tournament. The yearly event pits all sectors of the public safety department against each other as part of the city’s fundraising and public outreach plan.

“I’m here to extend a personal challenge from Station 6 to the 12th.” There’s some laughter and a couple of challenges thrown behind him, but Todd’s eyes remained locked on Dick’s own.

“Go on,” says Dick.

“Your station will be invited as guests of honor at our annual awards barbeque,” says Jason. “If the 12th beat us in the final.”

Someone whistled low behind them. FDGC’s awards barbeque sounds like family fun day at the park, and it is, if your family included a cavalcade of entertainment, food, and stars. The FDGC’s goodwill ambassadors always secure A-list performers at the barbeque. It would actually be a big deal if the 12th were allowed into the closed ranks of the fire department for their biggest celebration of the year. There’s got to be a catch, Dick thinks, eyeing Todd closely.

“Sounds too good to be true,” he says. “And what will happen if you manage the impossible and beat your soon-to-be three year champions?”

“The fighting 12th,” Carter shouts and the rest of the floor picks up the call.

Jason takes a step towards him, leans forward, tongue flashing over his lips like a nervous gesture, which is laughable. Todd is nothing but confidence poured into a sinfully perfect body, and it is not impressive, Grayson, focus up. “I’ll be your date to the Policeman’s Ball.”

A hush settles over the gathered crowd at Todd’s proclamation. Dick can feel every eye in the room wide, curious, laughing, anxious, and all on him. But the only thing he sees is Todd’s blazing gaze daring him one more time.

(Dick isn’t having a panic attack while on his boss’s leather couch, but it’s a near fucking thing. “I can’t believe I said yes,” he groans.

“I can’t believe you said yes,” cheers Babs.)

vi.  
“Wait. You said yes?”

“Are you even listening?” Dick stares at his foster brother from across the café table. “Yes. I said yes.”

“But what about the Year of No?” Tim asks.

“It flew right out of my head.” Dick flaps a hand away from his temple to illustrate.

“You were so gunho about rejecting new opportunities so you could concentrate on your life,” Tim chides, referring to the tipsy text Dick sent after New Year’s stating he would spend the year focusing on himself, friends, and family. He would say no to anything outside of those categories because he realized he was wearing himself trim. _Thrine. Thine. Sthpid autocorrect. Thin._

“Exactly,” he groans. “I can’t back out now. The whole precinct is ready to go to the barbeque. I hear they’re renting out the water park and everything. But I can’t for the life of me figure out why I said yes.”

“Well, you did kind of. You know. With that whole situation. So that might explain it,” says Tim, rather unhelpfully.

Dick frowns when his brother stops speaking. “No, I don’t actually.”

“Ah. You know.” Tim pretends to study the menu as he collects his thoughts. The stalling tactic means that whatever comes out of his mouth next will be a doozy. Definitely something Dick will not like hearing.

“Would it kill you to finish a sentence?”

“It might,” Tim mutters. “Fine. During the whole arson case last year? It kind of seemed like you and Todd were. I don’t know, Dick. Having a thing.”

“Having a—a” Dick feels his face scrunch in abject horror. “No. No, god, Tim. We didn’t. Our relationship is…was completely professional. Not that it’s a relationship,” he adds hastily.

“Perish the thought.”

“It was a partnership. A surprisingly productive partnership. I mean, I want to give it to him. Todd knows what he’s doing. Youngest investigator—“

“To be named primary on the investigation team,” Tim choruses. “I know. You might have mentioned it before. And the giving it to him,” Tim says, smile sly.

“But outside of…. No. I haven’t.” Dick frowns at the definite twinkle in Tim’s eye. He thinks back on their last exchange and rolls his eyes. “You know what I meant. Anyway outside of that,” he continues. “There’s nothing there.”

“Right.”

“I mean, outside of the obvious, there’s no chemistry.”

“Not that you’d want there to be.”

“Right,” says Dick, taking small pieces of his dinner roll and rolling them into balls.

“Right,” Tim agrees again. But something tells Dick that he’s not really agreeing at all. “But could you explain what the obvious is for those of us who are on the inside.”

“We’re on the opposite sides of the line. Policeman? Fireman? Sworn enemies. And it’s probably against some fraternization policy. I don’t really like the guy either. He comes across as all, you know, the boy next door who worked as an underwear model while majoring in polisci and everyone thinks is so charming and deep but is really hot,” Dick pauses. “I mean, is really not.”

“That is a very in depth metaphor,” Tim drawls. “One would think that you’ve thought way too much about this. And by one I mean me.”

He flicks a piece of bread at Tim’s forehead. “And you’re not funny.”

“You’re not fooling anyone anymore, big bird. Not even yourself.”

“I had my reasons,” Dick says, full mouth pulling into a mulish pout. It had started as necessity. Sure, he had found the guy to be reasonabl—okay, seriously attractive in the beginning. After that terrible first meeting and a new partnership, it’d felt like something he never wanted to act on. Then he got to know Todd better. What had looked like a bad idea turned into a good idea, something he might want, which made it a terrible idea.

“And now?”

Dick sighs. “They don’t’ seem to be that important.”

vii.  
The city water has never tasted as good as it does spilling out of the park fountain. Dick swallows in three huge gulps then ducks his head under the spray. He runs fingers through his wet hair and sighs. The precinct softball team is in the middle of the third weekend practice, and Dick can tell that they are ready.

“Heads up!”

Dick snatches the incoming bottle from the air. He shakes the sports drink at the tall figure walking toward him. “What’s this?”

“I had an extra and it looks like you could use one.” says Todd.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dick cracks open the bottle and takes a sip when a thought occurs to him. Todd’s appearance, the bottle, and he timing is way to suspect. “Are you spying on us?”

Todd breaks into laughter. “There’s that razor sharp suspicion I’ve come to know and, dare I say it, love. We just finished up our practice. Over at field 8.” Jason points down toward the lower fields.

“How’d it go?” Dick asks, swiping his hair back again. It’s heavier and clumpy wet and he kind of hates not feeling put together in front of Todd.

“Pretty good. Our pitcher was injured last week on the job, she’s okay. But we’re having to break in a new one.”

“Tough break,” Dick says. “But a good team can pull through.”

“And we’re a great team.”

“Just so we’re clear, you have not denied the spy thing yet,” Dick says.

“Oh please. Like we need an edge? Besides, I already know my competition.”

Dick raises an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“Half your coffee is cream and a quarter of it is sugared flavoring. Your favorite take out is Indian, Szechuan, and Thai—in order of spice preference. You do everything by the book and like to play by the rules. It’s a challenge for you to work within them, push but don’t break. But it also means you know the system enough to make it work. As much as it can. You got a kind word for everyone and never fail to let someone know they’re appreciated. But you got a mean streak a mile wide and keep it under control so very well. You’re great alone, but a team, a partner, someone you can rely on, brings out the best in you.” Todd’s reciting these things easily, as if they’re facts he picked up in a book. And the funny thing is, he’s not wrong. Dick finds himself blushing under the matter-of-factness, the piercing quality to Jason’s gaze, like he’s not just seeing through Dick. He’s seeing everything.

“You’re a monster on the field,” he continues. “Good hand eye coordination, sprinter’s build. But you pull your elbow in a little too much when you go after a curve ball. Tends to pull the hit short or pop up, am I right?” Todd’s smile is a little smug.

“Got that from one practice,” Dick says, flatly, trying to calm the sudden rush swirling through his veins.

“Nearly five weeks of partnership and one practice,” Jason says. “Now tell me you didn’t learn a thing or two about me.”

The problem is, Dick can’t say that at all. He knows that Jason Todd is loyal, stubborn, as swift to acknowledge his faults as he is to point out he’s right. He’s quick witted, sharp tongued, and dedicated to his work of making the city a safer place. He’s tenacious and insightful, and vicious with his need to discover truth. And he picked up the inconsequential things along the way. That Jason enjoyed slow cooked brisket and potato salad as much as he enjoyed a greasy slice of pizza that he ate folded in half. He’s a season ticket holder for most of Gotham’s sporting teams and also the symphony orchestra. He’ll travel one-thousand miles for a concert and can recite yesterday's late night television monologues and poetry for any occasion. And he had a devastating smile.

“I know you’re someone I can count on. We complement each other.”

“Yeah. We really, really do.” Jason rocks onto his heels. “We made a hell of a team, Dickiebird. A hell of a team.” He shrugs his bag higher onto his shoulder. “I’ll leave you to your practice.”

“Yeah.” Dick gives a little wave as he jogs down the hill toward the lower fields. "Hey!" he calls when Todd is halfway. "You know we're going to win right?"

"I know you'll try your best. But it won't be enough!" Jason shouts before heading back to the field. He dodges a couple fireman at the dugout who point at Jason and laugh. It must be good natured chirps because they all make their way to the parking lot, laughing and shoving each other. Todd turns back and Dick knows he’s staring straight at him.

“See you on the field, Todd.”

viii.  
It’s nearly 85 degrees the final day of the charity softball tournament. The sun hangs high in a cloudless blue sky, and the stands of Ebbot’s Fields are divided between GCPD friends and family and FDGC supporters. After the traditional opening of anthem, “Take me out to the ballgame,” and a rousing rendition of “Who’s on First?” the teams face one another to observe the coin toss and shake hands. Predictably, Todd stands across from him.

Todd’s hand is all warm palms and calloused finger tips when he reaches for him. They shake, eyes fixed on one another. Finally, Todd says, “Good luck, Grayson. I’m rooting for you.”

None of the quips Dick had waiting were prepared from the sincerity in Jason’s eyes. “I thought you wanted to win,” he says, surprised at how breathless he sounds.

“I do. But look at it from my perspective. How can I lose?” Todd trots backwards a few steps before jogging back to his dug out.

Realization hits Dick like a bolt from the blue. “Wait a minute. Todd!” he shouts. “This is your plan? Todd pauses at the entrance and looks back at him. Then the gorgeous asshole winks at him before he ducks inside leaving Dick to stare after him.

Stone is the one who comes to retrieve him. “Come on, lover boy.” He drags Dick back to their huddle. “We need your eyes on the prize.”

“Yeah. Of course,” Dick says. His eyes have no problem at all finding the prize. That’s the problem.

The game begins with the Station 6 at bat. Dick’s on the mound, cap pulled low over his eyes, body loose and ready for the game. He’s good and he’s in it to win, no matter what his teammates say. The 12th pull ahead after the first inning, three up, three down. Dick shuts down their lineup a second time in the second and a wild pitch brings the 12th ahead, 1-0.

There’s a brief break at the top of the 3rd with a reiteration of welcome and advertisements, thanks to volunteers and participants, and a reminder that donations are still welcome. The Chief Engineer of the city’s fire department steps up to the mic with a smooth reminder to all, “ladies and gentlemen,” that the Fireman’s calendar is on sale by the entrance gates. Then the calendar men and women are brought out and introduced to the crowd. Todd and several other of his teammates are now inexplicably and unescapably shirtless and waving to the crowd.

Babs tugs at his sleeve. “Grayson,” she hisses.

“I know,” he says, slapping at her hand.

“Holy Hannah will you look at him?” She points at Todd. “I thought that was airbrushed.”

He pushes her hand back down. “You are making a scene.”

She tugs at his sleeve again. “Are you sure you even want to win?”

Dick eyes the competition from beneath the shadows of his ball cap and nods once. “Yeah. I’m very sure,” he says. “I’m about to go down on him.”

“What? What did you just say?” Babs laughs gleefully. And because she enjoys high drama, Babs stumbles back against the chain length fence and clutches her chest. “Oh _Richard_.”

Dick breathes into the center of his mitt willing his flush to go down. “ _He’s going down_ ,” he mutters. “I meant. You knew what I meant.”

“I think we all know what you meant.”

Dick stalks away to warm his arm back up.

After the break, Todd is next at bat. He’s still shirtless and Dick is confused as to why this isn’t against some softball rule or at least a decency standard because Todd looks almost exactly as he does in that goddamn calendar photo. Shirtless, thin rivulets of sweat spilling down every cut detail of his lean torso, strong back, and there’s even eye black applied to the top his gorgeous cheekbones. And his mouth looks swollen and wet and is pulled into that tiny smirk that Dick’s been on the receiving end of one too many times. The only thing missing is the hose…. Dick’s only human, okay, and that damn calendar had been open to showcase Jason Todd’s beauty to the entire room for weeks now.

Todd steps up to the plate, knocks the dirt from his cleats, and levels his bat out at Dick in challenge.

People who know baseball call it a team sport played between three men—pitcher, catcher, and batter. The rest, they say, are only there as support. Others argue that the game is only between the pitcher and the batter and it’s purely mental, transcending the athleticism and play, and becoming a primal battle of hidden communication and reflexive response.

This conversation goes something like, _I want you, you can’t possibly be serious, I want you, you can’t handle me, I can handle anything you throw at me and that last pitch was trash, oh it’s on now, wouldn’t have it any other way, bluebird,_ only with pitches, fast balls, curve balls, RBIs, dangerous flirting off the first, second, and third bases, tight smiles, and gut churning desire.

In the stands, veteran detective and professional cynic, Harvey Bullock flips the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. “This homoerotic tension is starting to affect even me,” he complains to his partner.

Dick’s on deck at the top of the fourth and Brown manages to beat the ball to first base. Dick steps into the batter’s box, hand outstretched while he digs his toe into the dirt. His eyes are focused on the shift and throw of the pitcher but his attention is on the smirking second baseman lazily taking position on the field. Todd even gambols up a couple steps which is so. Dick shivers and chokes up on the bat a little. _I’ll show you_ , he thinks before cracking the ball hard and low between the first baseman and the bag. He rounds past first base and sprints to second easily beating the ball. Todd taps his hip with the glove, a pseudo tag, before tossing the ball back to the pitcher.

“You’re going to need to do better than that,” Dick says, pulling off his batting gloves and shoving them into his back pocket.

“You won’t even make it to third.”

“You’ve got a cocky short stop.” Dick points to Jason who winks at him. Again. “And a rookie pitcher.”

“Conner’s good. Trust me.”

“Sure he is,” scoffs Dick. “If you direct your attention to the score board, you’ll find that we’re up 2 to 0. I’m not letting you anywhere near first base, let alone home.”  
Jason cocks his hips and grins. “I know. Believe me, I know. But go ahead and take a good long lead, detective. We’ll see how far you get.” The challenge in his eyes is one Dick cannot deny. He takes a big step off the bag. Todd matches with a step along the baseline, and oh, no, Dick is not backing down. He takes another step and somehow, he and Todd are nearly nose to nose staring the other down. The heat of the sun cannot compare to the blazing warmth coming from Todd’s body. It’s like being in front of a campfire, and Dick can feel it from the inside out.

“You can’t catch me.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that, detective. Looks to me like you want to be caught.”

“I didn’t,” says Dick.

“But you know what I know, right? We make a hell of a team.” Todd echoes the sentiment from all those days ago and Dick feels it resonate through him.

Dick takes a steadying breath then exhales. “So what stopped us from being more?”

“Timing probably. But a little birdie told me you’d say no.”

“And now?”

“Well,” Todd drawls, taking another step forward and theirs only finger tips separating them now. “I figured I’d just have to make you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”

It’s inevitable that at that very moment the softball drops onto the green of the outfield just steps away from them. He and Jason simply stare at the intrusion. Todd looked back at him then down again before reaching for the ball. Dick trots a couple steps then stops, gaze locked with Todd’s intense eyes.

“Oh my god, what the hell are you doing out there Grayson!” Babs voice pierces the fog. “Move it!” And just like that the roar of the crowd returns, the shouts of his teammates and opponents rush into his ears only distant to the thrumming in his chest.

“You better run, detective.”

“I’m going to make you earn it, Todd!” Dick shouts and takes off running.

A smile blooms across Jason’s face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he whispers.

(FDGC wins by a ball busting in the field home run, thanks to Marshal Todd. He looks devastating in a tuxedo. After the ball, the tuxedo experiences its own bout of devastation, rumpled and stained on Dick’s floor.)


End file.
